Once upon a time, in the Cornhusker State of Nebraska, where cornfields sway like a sea in the breezy weather and the endless skies kissed the ground, there was an annual Marathon race that attracted kids from every nook and cranny. These were no ordinary kids; they were the ‘Nebraska Dashers’, who could outrun a tornado and still have breath for a corn-eating contest. The excitement in the air was as thick as Aunt Maizy's delicious corn chowder. The ‘Dashers’ were a delightful bunch, from tiny tots with twinkling sneakers to teens with speedy ponytails. They came from Omaha, Lincoln, Bellevue and beyond. Some were lean and fast like lightning, others were chubby but could chug along like unstoppable little trains. Regardless of their style, they all had the spirit of gazelles and the hearts of lions. Among these marathon enthusiasts, there was a lad named Billy “Bolt” Benson, renowned for his incredible speed. He was as swift as a jackrabbit on a caffeine spree. Billy was so speedy, folks say he could zip from one side of the city to the other in the blink of an eye. Legend even had it that he once outran his own shadow! But the true beauty of these races was not in the medals or the cheers. It was in the laughter, the friendship, and the gleaming eyes of the kids. And whether they ran like Billy "Bolt" or they jogged along at a comfortable pace, they all ended the race with the same victorious smiles on their faces, and a promise to return next year.